


the exquisite pain

by kurtsiehummel



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, M/M, Minor Adam Crawford/Kurt Hummel, Pining, Unrequited Love, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25377799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtsiehummel/pseuds/kurtsiehummel
Summary: the russian word toska roughly translates to a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause; a longing with nothing to long for. it has no direct english translation.kurt has always known exactly what he wants - new york, a loving partner, success on broadway. he's definitely not longing for anything or anyone else, no matter what his heart may say otherwise.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	the exquisite pain

**Author's Note:**

> Alphabees prompted: coffee shop!au, unrequited love, “i’m rambling again, aren’t i?”
> 
> thank you so much for the prompt <3 i had a lot of fun writing this!
> 
> read it on tumblr [here](https://kurtsiehummel.tumblr.com/post/624075418897629184/for-the-au-trope-prompt-game-6-5-15)

The Russian word _toska_ roughly translates _to a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause; a longing with nothing to long for._ It has no direct English translation.

Kurt discovered the word in a battered Lima Library dictionary during one of his more successful escapes from neanderthal jocks. I know what I long for, he told himself. To be somewhere free from small-minded morons, to have a loving partner, to have success under the bright lights - Kurt knew the shape of his dreams.

And now - now, he has it all. New York, Adam, Broadway. But then what is this ache in his chest?

“Maybe it’s indigestion,” his friend tells him.

The friend’s name is Sebastian, and he is an obnoxious, insufferable know-it-all. Case in point.

The two of them are holed up in a corner of a coffee shop, a routine they’ve kept up since high school in Ohio. Since moving to the West Village two years ago (Kurt with Adam and the Sebastian by himself), they’ve frequented The Elk. It’s a refreshing, cozy affair - neutral tones, wood-panelled furniture, and smiley baristas.

Being with Sebastian feels like that, Kurt thinks - refreshing, cozy, smiley.

Adam once asked him how his and Sebastian’s friendship lasted so long. “And we’re even moving into his neighbourhood!” Adam exclaimed, sounding impressed.

Kurt was impressed too. He thought about it.

“Coffee,” he said. “We both can’t live without it.”

Adam chuckled. He’d always been a tea drinker.

“Don’t you ever feel that there’s something missing in your life?” Kurt continues asking Sebastian. “Something that’s hovering there, just out of reach, and you could grasp it if only you knew how.”

Sebastian smirks. “Absolutely not. You’re thinking too hard. This is why I don’t believe in monogamy – it makes people no fun at _all._ ”

Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs. “How was last night?”

Sebastian leers. “Fantastic. Went home with this blonde and he sure was freaky -“

Kurt holds up a hand before Sebastian can regale him with the graphic details. He’s not sure why that ache in his chest intensifies at the first mention of Sebastian’s escapades, and chalks it down to concern for his friend.

“So I’m guessing you’re still not any closer to settling down?”

Sebastian scoffs. “What did I just say about monogamy?”

Kurt purses his lips and drains the dregs of his mocha.

-

Later that evening, Kurt’s on the phone, sprawled on his bed with fingers pulling at loose threads on the duvet as his father’s voice washes over him like a warm bath. Burt's talking about Kurt’s stepmother with that soft, gruff tone he reserves specially for her.

“Carole tried this new recipe with the chicken today. Cock ah something?”

“Coq au vin.”

“Yeah, that. It was fantastic. She really outdid herself. I tell ya kid, marrying her was one of the best decisions of my life.”

Kurt smiles softly. “I can’t believe it’s your tenth anniversary,” he says, as he wonders what the best decision of _his_ life was.

Burt Hummel has been married twice in his life. Both times, within a year of meeting. Kurt has been with Adam for six years.

On the day of his and Carole’s wedding, Burt pulled his son aside. As they stood under the glittering fairy lights and plucked glistening canapes off passing servers, Kurt would never forget how his father placed a hand on his shoulder, looked straight into his eyes, and said, “I’m so happy right now.”

Kurt had always dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding.

“Dad, how did you know when it was time to get married?”

One, two, three beats.

“Is this about Adam?”

“Maybe.”

Kurt hears a sigh.

“Life’s too short, kiddo. You and I both know that. And when you meet the right person, that’s rare, Kurt. Me and your mother - we were lucky enough to have the time we had, but I would trade anything for just ten minutes longer.”

Kurt’s throat tightens with longing, and Burt clears his throat.

“What I want to say is, don’t waste your time with indecision. Answer me this. When you imagine your life five years from now, is Adam in it? Ten years from now. Twenty. Can you picture a life with him?”

Kurt bites his lip. “Yes,” he whispers. Imagining life without Adam, without _Sebastian,_ is piercing, exquisite pain. He pictures Sebastian always by his side, Adam always in his bed.

He wonders why he’s thinking about Sebastian when his father asked him about Adam, but he feels the ache in his chest easing. The shapeless discontent dispersing.

“Yes,” he says, more clearly now.

“Well,” says his father, “there’s only one thing left to do.”

-

Kurt’s fingering the petals of his bouquet as he makes his way to Sebastian’s. They’re daffodils – big, creamy white petals with a pastel yellow centre. In his mind, he’s already imagining lily-white accents, a cream pressed suit, golden-yellow boutonnieres –

“Good choice,” the florist had said when Kurt picked it up. “Rebirth, new beginnings, eternal life... unrequited love.”

Kurt laughed awkwardly. “New beginnings? This would make a good choice for a proposal then?”

The florist gave him a knowing look as she adjusted her cat-eye glasses. “Of course.”

Pre-empting Sebastian’s complaint about the god-awfully early wake up call, Kurt ducks into The Elk to grab a mocha for his friend. He needs him alert and ready in order to help plan the perfect proposal.

Kurt’s humming as he unlocks the door. He’s dreaming up potential speeches - _from the moment I saw you, I knew you would be someone special? A bit contrived but it’s a start_ \- as he walks deeper into the apartment. Then he hears it.

Moaning.

Kurt gasps, and in his hasty retreat, elbows a vase. It’s an intricately patterned affair - or it was. He vaguely registers that he’s spilled the coffee.

He cringes as the vase crashes down, and Sebastian slams open the bedroom door.

“Who’s there - Kurt?”

Sebastian’s clad in nothing but a sheet carelessly wrapped around his hips. As he bends down to check on Kurt it starts to slip and wow - Kurt averts his eyes.

He can’t help the way his eyes dart to the open bedroom door where he can see a sprawled out blonde figure, chest littered with bite marks and hickeys.

Kurt’s not sure why he’s suddenly feeling breathless – as Sebastian’s best friend he knows the variety and number of his sexual exploits, and he’s had the misfortune of walking in on them before - but the ache in his chest is back in full force.

It takes everything in him to just civilly take Sebastian’s hand to pull himself up, instead of not so civilly grabbing onto the man’s shoulders to shake the answers out of him _. Why do I feel like this around you?_

“What are you doing here? Are the flowers for me, babe?” Sebastian asks, and Kurt can’t find the words to reply. His head is spinning, his chest is aching, coffee is spattered on the plush carpet like blood, his daffodils have dropped to the floor, he’s rambling again isn’t he -

Oh shit.

Daffodils.

Oh _shit._

That nameless longing, that pull in his heart - once again, Kurt’s sitting on that dusty library floor.

_Toska_ , he reads _. A longing with nothing to long for._

He picks up a second dictionary. _La douleur exquise_ , he reads. _The exquisite pain of wanting someone you cannot have._

Once again, he feels the dream taking shape. Once again, he knows exactly what he’s longing for – and it’s not the man waiting on him at home.

“Listen Kurt, can we continue this later? I’ve got a guest to _entertain_ ,” Sebastian says with a obnoxious, shit-eating grin, and _oh_. So the sweet, sharp ache, the thrumming, burning discontent -

This is _la douleur exquise._ This is _the exquisite pain._

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments much appreciated! comments especially make my day <3
> 
> also i would love to do more of [these prompts!!](https://kurtsiehummel.tumblr.com/post/623887978465476608/au-trope-prompt-game) send me an [ask](https://kurtsiehummel.tumblr.com/ask) or comment below :D
> 
> (seriously y'all i've got the worst writer's block in the history of writer's block and you'd be doing me a huge favour!)


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